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Class _ 
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Copyright N^. 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



I 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung 

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for 

years. 
Who each one in a gracious hand appears 
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young; 
And as I mused it in his antique tongue, 
I saw in gradual vision through my tears. 
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years. 
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung 
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 

'ware. 
So weeping, how a raystic Shape did move 
Behind me, and drew me backward by the 

hair; 
And a voice said in mastery while I strove: 
"Guess now who holds thee?" — "Death!" 

I said. But there 
The silver answer rang: "Not Death but 

Love." 





But only three in all God's universe 
Have heard this word thou hast said — Him- 
self, beside 
Thee speaking and me listening! and replied 
One of us — that v/as God! — and laid the 

curse 
So darkly on my eyeHds as to amerce 
My sight from seeing thee — that if I had 

died. 
The deathweights placed there would have 

signified 
Less absolute exclusion. "Nay" is worse 
From God than from all others, O my friend ! 
Men could not part us with their wordly jars. 
Nor the seas change us, nor the tempest bend : 
Our hands would touch for all the mountain- 
bars — 
And, heaven bemg rolled between us at the end, 
We should but vow the faster for the stars. 






Ill 

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! 
Unlike our uses and our destinies. 
Our ministering two angels look surprise 
On one another, as they strike athwart 
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, 

art 
A guest for queens to social pageantries, 
With gazes from a hundred brighter eyes 
Than tears even can make mine, to ply thy 

part 
Of chief musician. What has thou to do 
With looking from the lattice-lights at me, 
A poor, tired, wandering singer — singing 

through 
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree? 
The chrism is on thine head — on mine, the 

dew — 
And Death must dig the level where these 

agree. 




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IV 

Thou hast thy calling to some palace floor, 
Most gracious singer of high poems! where 
The dancers will break footing, from the 

Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more. 
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor 
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and 

bear 
To let thy music drop here unaware 
In folds of golden fullness at my door? 
Look up and see the casement broken in. 
The bats and owlets builders in the roof I 
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin. 
Hush! call no echo up in further proof 
Of desolation ! there's a voice within 
That weeps as — thou must sing — alone, 

aloof. 





I lift my heavy heart up solemnly. 
As once Electra her sepulchral urn. 
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn 
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see 
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me. 
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn 
Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in 



Could tread them out to darkness utterly. 
It might be well perhaps. But if instead 
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow 
The gray dust up — those laurels on thine 

head, 
O my Beloved, will not shield thee so, 
That none of all the fires shall scorch and 

shred 
The hair beneath. Stand farther off, then. 

Go! 











VI 

Go from me! Yet I feel that I shall stand 
Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore 
Alone upon the threshold of my door 
Of individual life I shall command 
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand 
Serenely in the sunshine as before. 
Without the sense of that which I forbore — 
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land 
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in 

mine 
With pulses that beat double. What I do 
And what I dream includes thee, as the 

wine 
Must tas!e of its own grapes. And when I 

sue ^ 

God for myself, He hears that name of 

thine. 
And sees within my eyes the tears of two. 




VII 

The face of all the world is changed, I think, 
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul 
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole 
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink 
Of obvious death, where I who thought to sink 
Was caught up into love, and taught the 

whole 
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole 
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink. 
And praise its sweetness. Sweet, with thee 

anear. 
The name of country, heaven, are changed 

away 
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here ; 
And this — this lute and song — loved yes- 
terday, 
(The singing angels know) are only dear. 
Because thy name moves right in what they 

ay. 



VIII 
What can I give thee back, O liberal 
And princely giver — who hast brought the 

gold 
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold. 
And laid them on the outside of the wall 
For such as I to take or leave withal. 
In unexpected largesse? Am I cold, 
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold 
High gifts, I render nothing back at all? 
Not so; not cold — but very poor instead! 
Ask God who knows! for frequent tears 

have run 
The colors from my life, and left so dead 
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done 
To give the same as pillow to thy head. 
Go farther! let it serve to trample on. 




IX 

Can it be right to give what I can give? 
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears 
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years 
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative 
Through those infrequent smiles which feul 

to live 
For all thy adjurations? O my fears. 
That this can scarce be right! We are not 

peers. 
So to be lovers ; and I own and grieve 
That givers of such gifts as mine are must 
Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas ! 
I will not soil thy purple with my dust. 
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass, 
Nor give thee any love — which were unjust. 
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass. 



'ft»^««* 



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X 

Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed 
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, 
Let temple burn, or Hax; an equal light 
Leaps in the Hame from cedar -plank or 

weed; 
And love is fire. And when I say at need 
/ love thee — mark — / love thee! — in thy 

sight 
I stand transfigured, glorified aright. 
With conscience of the new rays that proceed 
Out of my face toward thine. There's noth- 
ing low 
In love, when love the lowest : meanest creat- 
ures 
Who love God, God accepts while loving so. 
And what I feel, across the inferior features 
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show 
How that great work of Love enhances 
Nature's, 




XI 

And therefore if to love can be desert, 

I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale 

As these you see, and trembling knees that 

fail 
To bear the burden of a heavy heart. 
This w^eary minstrel-life that once was girt 
To climb Aornus, and can scarce avail 
To pipe now 'gainst the valley nightingale 
A melancholy music — why advert 
To these things? O Beloved, it is plain 
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place! 
And yet, because I love thee, I obtain 
From that same love this vindicating 

grace — 
To live on still in love, and yet in vain. 
To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face. 




Indeed this very love which is my boast. 
And which, when rising up from breast to 

brow 
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow 
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner 

cost — 
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost, 
I should not love withal, unless that thou 
Hadst set me an example, shown me how. 
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were 

crossed. 
And love called love. And thus I cannot 

speak 
Of love even as a cood thing of my own. 
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and 

weak. 
And placed it by thee on a golden throne — 
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!) 
Is by thee only, whom I love alone. 




XIII 

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech 
The love I bear thee, finding v^^ords enough. 
And hold the torch out, while the winds are 

rough. 
Between our faces to cast light on each? — 
I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach 
My hand to hold my spirit so far off 
From myself — me — that I should bring thee 

proof 
In words, of love hid in me out of reach. 
Nay, let the silence of my womanhood 
Commend my woman-love to thy belief — 
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed. 
And rend the garment of my life, in brief. 
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude. 
Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. 





If thou must love me, let it be for nought 
Except for love's sake only. Do not say 
*'I love her for her smile — ^her look — ^her way 
Of speaking gently — for a trick of thought 
That falls in w^ell with mine, and certes 

brought 
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day:" — 
For these things in themselves. Beloved, may 
Be changed, or change for thee — and love so 

wrought 
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for 
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry : 
A creature might forget to weep, who bore 
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Thou mayst love on through love's eternity. 




XV 

Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear 
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine; 
For we two look two ways, and cannot 

shine 
With the same sunlight on our brow and 

hair. 
On me thou lookest with no doubting care. 
As on a bee shut in a crystalline; 
For sorrow hath shut me safe in love's divine. 
And to spread wing and fly in the outer air 
Were most impossible failure, if I strove 
To fail so. But I look on thee — on thee — 
Beholding, besides love, the end of love 
Hearing oblivion beyond memory; 
As one who sits and gazes from above. 
Over the rivers to the bitter sea. 



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XVI 

And yet, because thou overcomest so, 
Because thou art noble and Hke a king. 
Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling 
Thy purple round me, till my heart shall 

grow 
Too close against thine heart henceforth to 

know 
How it shook when alone. Why, conquering 
May prove as lordly and complete a thing 
In lifting upward as in crushing low! 
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword 
To one who lifts him from the bloody earth. 
Even so, Beloved, I at last record. 
Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth, 
I rise above abasement at the word. 
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth. 




XVII 

My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes 
God set between his After and Before, 
And strike up and strike off the general 

loai 
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats 
In a serene air purely. Antidotes 
Of medicated music, answering for 
Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour 
From thence into their ears. God's will de- 
votes 
Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on 

thine ! 
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most 

use? 
A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine 
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse? 
A shade in which to sing — of palm or pine? 
A grave on which to rest from singing? 
Choose. 




XVIII 

I never gave a lock of hair away 
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee. 
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully 
I ring out to the full brown length, and say: 
"Take it." My day of youth went yes- 
terday ; 
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. 
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. 
As girls do, any more: it only may 
Now shade on two pale cheeks, the mark of 

tears. 
Taught drooping from the head that hangs 

aside 
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the fun- 
eral shears 
Would take this first, but Love is justified: 
Take it thou — finding pure, from all those 

years. 
The kiss my mother left here when she died. 






XIX 
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise; 
I barter curl for curl upon that mart. 
And from my poet's forehead to my heart 
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies- 
As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes 
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart 
The nine white Muse-brows. For this 

counterpart. 
The bay-crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise. 
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black ! 
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath, 
I tie the shadow safe from gliding back. 
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth. 
Here on my heart as on thy brow, to lack 
No natural heat till mine grows cold in 

death. 





XX 

Beloved, my Beloved, when I think 
That thou w^ast in the vv^orld a year ago. 
What time I sate alone here in the snow 
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink 
No moment at thy voice, but link by link 
Went counting all my chains as if that so 
They never could fall off at any blow 
Struck by thy possible hand — why, thus I 

drink 
Of life's great cup of wonder. Wonderful, 
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night 
With personal act or speech — nor ever cull 
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms 

white 
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull. 
Who cannot guess God's presence out of 

sight. 




v XXI 

Say over again and yet once over again 
That thou dost love me. Though the word 

repeated 
Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as tViou dost 

treat it, 
Remember, never to the hill or plain, 
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain 
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green com- 
pleted ! 
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted 
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain 
Cry, "Speak once more, thou lovest!" Who 

can fear 
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll 
Too many flowers, though each shall crown 



th 



e year: 



Say thou dost love me, love me, love me — toll 
The silver iterance! — only minding. Dear, 
To love me also in silence with thy soul. 



XXII 

When our two souls stand up erect and 

strong 
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and 

nigher. 
Until the lengthening wings break into fire 
At either curved point — what bitter wrong 
Can the earth do to us, that we should not 

long 
Be here contented? Think. In mounting 

higher. 
The angels would press on us, and aspire 
To drop some golden orb of perfect song 
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay 
Rather on earth. Beloved — where the unfit 
Contrarious moods of men recoil away 
And isolate pure spirits, and permit 
A place to stand and love in for a day. 
With darkness and the death-hour rounding 

it. 



XXIII 

Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead, 
Wouldst thou miss any hfe in losing mine? 
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine, 
Because of grave-damps falling round my 

head? 
I marveled, my Beloved, when I read 
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine — 
But — so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine 
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, 

instead 
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower 

range. 
Then, love me. Love! look on me — breathe 

on me! 
As brighter ladies do not count it strange. 
For love, to give up acres and degree, 
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange 
My near sweet view of Heaven for earth 

with thee! 




m 



XXIV 
Let the world's sharpness Hke a clasping knife 
Shut in upon itself and do no harm 
In this close hand of Love, now soft and 

warm; 
And let us hear no sound of human strife 
After the click of the shutting. Life to life — 
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm. 
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm 
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife 
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still 
The lilies of our lives may reassure 
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible 
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer; 
Growing straight, out of man's reach, on the 

hill. 
God only, who made us rich, can make us 

poor. 



ms 








m XXV 

A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne 
From year to year until I saw thy face, 
And sorrow after sorrow took the place 
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn 
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its 

iurn 
By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes 

apace 
Were changed to long despairs, till God's 

own grace 
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn 
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me 

bring 
And let it drop adown thy calmly great 
Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing 
Which its own nature doth precipitate. 
While thine doth close above it, mediating 
Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished 

fate. 









XXVI 

I lived with visions for my company 

Instead of men and women, years ago 

And found them gentle mates, nor thought 

to know 
A sweeter music than they played to me. 
But soon their trailing purple was not free 
Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow, 
And I myself grew faint and blind below 
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst 

come — to be. 
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining 

fronts, 
Their songs, their splendors — better, yet the 

same. 
As river-water hallowed into fonts — 
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame 
My soul with satisfaction of all wants — 
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams 

to shame. 




XXVII 

My own Beloved, who has lifted me 

From this drear flat of earth where I was 

thrown. 
And in betwixt the languid ringlets blown 
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully 
Shines out again, as all the angels see, 
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own, 
Who earnest to me when the world was gone. 
And I who looked for only God found thee! 
I find thee: I am safe, and strong, and glad. 
As one who stands in dewless asphodel 
Looks backward on the tedious time he had 
In the upper life — so, I, with bosom-swell. 
Make witness here, between the good and 

bad. 
That love, as strong as Death, retrieves as 

well. 






XXVIII 

My letters all dead paper, mute and white! 
And yet they seem alive and quivering 
Against my tremulous hands which loose the 

string 
And let them drop down on my knee to-night. 
This said, he wished to have me in his sight 
Once, as a friend ; this fixed a day in spring 
To come and touch my hand — a simple 

thing. 
Yet I wept for it! — this — the paper's light — 
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and 

quailed 
As if God' future thundered on my past. 
This said, / am thine — and so its ink has 

paled 
With lying at my heart that beat too fast ; 
And this — O Love, thy words have ill 

availed. 
If what this said I dared repeat at last! 




XXIX 

I think of thee! — my thouglits do twine and 

bud 
About thee, as wild vines about a tree 
Put out broad leaves and soon there's nought 

to see 
Except the straggling green which hides the 

wood. 
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood 
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee 
Who art dearer, better! Rather instantly 
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should. 
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare, 
And let these bands of greenery which in- 

sphere thee 
Drop heavily down — burst, shattered, every- 
where ! 
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee 
And breathe within thy shadow a new air, 
I do not think of thee — I am too near thee. 





XXX 

I see thy image through my tears to-night. 
And yet to-day I saw thee smiHng. How 
Refer the cause? — Beloved, is it thou 
Or I who makes me sad? The acolyte 
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite 
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow. 
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and 

vow 
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of 

sight. 
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's 

amen. 
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all 
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when 
Too vehement light dilated my ideal 
For my soul's eyes? Will that light come 

again 
dAs now these tears come — falling hot and 

real? 





Miiij{iiii|inr 

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XXXI 

Thou comest! all is said without a word. 

I sit beneath thy looks, as children do 

In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble 

through 
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred 
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred 
In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue 
The sin most, but the occasion — that we 

two 
Should for a moment stand unministered 

By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and 

close. 
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears 

would rise. 
With thy broad heart serenely interpose: 
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies 
These thoughts which tremble when bereft 

of those. 
Like callow birds left desert to the skies. 




XXXII 

The first time that the sun rose on thine oath 
To love me, I looked forward to the moon 
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon 
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth. 
Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly 

loathe ; 
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one 
For such man's love! — more like an out-of-tune 
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth 
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched 

in haste. 
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note. 
I did not wrong myself so, but I placed 
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may 

float 
'Neath master-hands from instruments de- 
faced — 
And great souls, at one stroke, may do and 
doat. 





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XXXIII 

Yes, call me by my pet name ! let me hear 
The name I used to run at, when a child, 
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips 

piled. 
To glance up in some face that proved me 

dear 
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear 
Fond voices, which, being drawn and recon- 
ciled 
Into the music of heaven's undefiled. 
Call me no longer. Silence on the bier 
While I call God— call God!— So let thy 

mouth 
Be heir to those who are now exanimate ; 
Gather the north flowers to complete the 

south, 
And catch the early love up in the late ! 
Yes, call rae by that name — and I, in truth. 
With the same heart, will answer and not wait 




XXXIV 

With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee 
As those, when thou shalt call me by my 

name — 
Lo, the vain promise ! Is the same the same. 
Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy? 
When called before, I told how hastily 
I dropped my Rowers or brake off from a 

game, 
To run and answer with the smile that came 
At play's last moment, and went on with me 
Through my obedience. When I answer 

now, 
I drop a grave thought — break from soli- 
tude — 
Yet still my heart goes to thee — ponder 

how — 
Not as to a single good but all my good! 
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow 
That no child's foot could run fast as this blood. 





XXXV 

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And be all to n\e? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss 
That comes to each in turn, nor count it 

strange. 
When I look up, to drop on a new range 
Of walls and floors, another home than 

this? 
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is 
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know 

change ? 
That's hardest I If to conquer love has tried. 
To conquer grief tries more, as all things 

prove ; 
For grief indeed is love and grief beside. 
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love — 
Yet love me — ^wilt thou? Open thine heart 

wide 
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove. 



'Wl, 









XXXVI 

we met first and loved, I did not 
build 
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean 
To last, a love set pendulous between 
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled. 
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild 
The onward path, and feared to overlean 
A finger even. And though I have grown 

serene 
And strong since then, I think that God has 

willed 
A still renewable fear — O love, O troth — 
Lest these enclasped hands should never 

hold. 
This mutual kiss drop down between us both 
As an unowned thing, once the lips being 

cold, 
And Love be false! if he, to keep one oath. 
Must lose one joy by his life's star foretold. 





XXXVII 

Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should 

make 
Of all that strong divineness which I know 
For thine and thee, an image only so 
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and 

break. 
It is that distant years which did not take 
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow. 
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo 
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to for- 
sake 
Thy purity of likeness and distort 
Thy worthiest love to a worthless counter- 
feit : 
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port. 
His guardian sea-god to commemorate. 
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills 

snort 
And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate. 



a- 







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XXXVIII 

First time he kissed me, but he only kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. 
And ever since it grew more clean and white — 
Slow to world greetings, quick with its 

"Oh, list," 
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
I could not wear here plainer to my sight 
Than that first kiss. The second passed in 

height 
The first, and sought the forehead, and half 

missed. 
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed! 
That was the chrism of love which love's own 

crown. 
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. 
The third upon my lips was folded down 
In perfect, purple state ; since when, indeed, 
I have been proud and said: "My Love, 

my own." 





i^ 



XXXIX 

Because thou has the power and own'st the 

grace 
To look through and behind this mask of me 
(Against which years have beat thus blanch- 

ingly 
With their rains), and behold my soul s true 

face. 
The dim and dreary witness of life's race — 
Because thou hast the faith and love to see, 
Through that same soul's distracting lethargy. 
The patient angel waiting for his place 
In the new Heavens — because nor sin nor woe. 
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighbor- 
hood. 
Nor all which others viev^ng, turn to go. 
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self- 
viewed — 
Nothing repels thee — Dearest, teach me so 
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost good ! 





Oh, yes! they love through all this world of 

ours! 
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth. 
I have heard love talked in my early youth. 
And since, not so long back but that the 

flowers 
Then gathered smell still. Mussulmans and 

Giaours 
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth 
For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth 
Slips on the nut, if after frequent showers 
The shell is over-smooth ; and not so much 
Will turn the thing called love aside to hate. 
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such 
A lover, my Beloved ! thou canst wait 
Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls 

to touch. 
And think it soon when others cry "Too 

late." 




XLI 

I thank all who have loved me in their hearts, 
With thanks and love from mine. Deep 

thanks to all 
Who paused a little near the prison-wall 
To hear my music in its louder parts. 
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's 
Or temple's occupations, beyond call. 
But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall 
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's 
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot. 
To hearken what I said between my tears — 
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to 

shoot 
My soul's full meaning into future years. 
That f/iep should lend it utterance, and salute 
Love that endures, from Life that disappears ! 




XLII 

My future will not cop}) fair mp past — 
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side 
My ministering life-angel justified 
The word by his appealing look upcast 
To the white throne of God, I turned at last. 
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied 
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried 
By natural ills, received the comfort fast. 
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's 

staff 
Gave out green leaves with morning dews 

impearled. 
I seek no copy now of life's first half: 
Leave here the pages with long musing curled. 
And write me new my future's epigraph. 
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world! 




XLIII 

How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. 
I love thee to the depth and breadth and 

height 
My soul can reach, when feeling out of 

sight 
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. 
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; 
I love thee purely, as men turn from Praise. 
I love thee with the passion put to use 
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's 

faith. 
I love thee wath a love I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints — I love thee with the 

breath. 
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God 

choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death. 







XLIV 

Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers 
Plucked in the garden, 

through 
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew 
In this close room, nor missed the sun and 

showers. 
So, in the like name of that love of ours. 
Take back these thoughts which here un- 
folded too. 

And which on warm and cold days I withdrew 
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds 

and bowers 
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. 
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine. 
Here's ivy! — take them, as I used to do 
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall 

not pine. 
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true. 
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine. 







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